Call It Magic, Call It True
by xstormqueenx
Summary: Jacob and Cassandra are meant to be having a romantic getaway whilst investigating a clipping in London, only to be dragged into one of Flynn's more fantastical adventures. {One-shot, AU}.


**Author's Note:** This one-shot is written for the _Jassandra Summer Fluffathon_ held by **Jassandratrash** on Tumblr and mentions my original character Clara Hartley who is paired with Flynn. Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel via the link on my profile.

* * *

 **Call It Magic, Call It True**

The key was to distract himself. Big, shiny distractions with lots of explosions and exploding emperors, with some fireworks flung in for good measure, or would that be filed under explosions, right next to wrong turns and rueful glances? It didn't matter. All he needed to find was a distraction. And he was exactly the right kind of person whom distraction desired. He was always one footstep away from it. It was everywhere. The twelfth century. Kuala Lumpur. The space behind the skirting board. Your uncle's girlfriend's bathroom. Maybe, hopefully, somewhere under this table.

He craned his neck, only to get a crick. Being wedged under a Formica-covered table in a greasy spoon cafe vaguely came under the heading of distraction. As if on cue, the crick creaked further into being, making him wince. He knew what he was doing was highly suspect and strange, and he knew the other customers were watching his peculiar progress with wide eyes. But he didn't care, and he didn't care that this wasn't what he was supposed to be doing. He was supposed to be saving the world, and cats stuck up trees and yes, finding the Library.

 _Pyramids._ Think about pyramids and their little pointy bits. The Egyptians plotted out the path of the stars with pyramids, and he'd just escaped a particularly pointy pyramid in the Fifth Dimension, saving a tribe of talking pot-plants in the process. After fleeing their overwhelming gratitude by hitching a lift in a wheelbarrow, he'd sent Clara a postcard, saying he was living la vida loca quite literally. He didn't tell her he was lonely, or that he was no closer to finding the Library after he'd left her. There were some things she didn't need to know, and he didn't have to share.

After posting his lie, that's when he had seen her, the girl. Small, long dark hair, with the same sort of challenge for the world in her eyes as Hartley had. So he'd followed her into the cafe, only to dive under a table instead -

" _Flynn?_ "

Flynn started violently, the sound of Jacob's Southern tones catching him off-guard, making him whack his head on the underside of the table.

"What the hell are you doin' under here?" Jacob said, kneeling down, blue eyes bewildered.

"I could ask the same question," Cassandra said, appearing out of the ether, making Flynn's head dart from side to side.

"Why are you two in London Town?" Flynn asked, evading answering the question. "Are the others with you?"

"Translation in progress," Cassandra said robotically, holding her palms up, "zing-ding-ding – is _Clara_ with us?" She waggled her eyebrows at Flynn, who raised his own eyebrows in return, his deliberately innocent gaze making him oddly resemble a Renaissance cherub.

"How dare you?" Flynn said, feigning wounded pride. "Ezekiel means the world to me. As for Eve" -

\- "You love her and loathe Ezekiel," Cassandra said smartly, "whilst Clara is your cookie dough, the honeybun of your heart."

"And you are the synsthete of my soul," Flynn said, flamboyantly flinging his arms wide, just missing Jacob's nose, "and Jacob my midnight cowboy" -

\- "Sorry to interrupt the reunion," Jacob cut across him, not sounding the least bit sorry, "but why exactly are you Woodstockin' under this table?"

"I'm having the time of my life actually," Flynn said sarcastically. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"We're investigatin' a clippin'," Jacob said, brow furrowing. "Aren't you supposed to be findin' the Library?" he added, eying Flynn suspiciously.

"I am," Flynn said shiftily.

"I don't think you'll find it under there," Jacob pointed out.

"How do you know?" Flynn taunted, pulling out _Plato's Republic_ from his pocket, briefly consulting it before flinging it over his shoulder, ignoring the answering _OOMPH_ as it struck someone. "It could be anywhere. Under your pillow even."

"I haven't seen my pillow in a long time," Jacob said tiredly, "so I wouldn't know."

"You know, going abroad to investigate a clipping is usually code for romantic getaway," Flynn said, eying Jacob oddly, "is that the scenario here? If so, I can just mysteriously slink away into the shadows."

"Was that _you_ in the shadows last night?" Cassandra said, doing a dramatic double-take. "Jeesh, I didn't recognize you under the false moustache. No, Flynn, this is not a romantic getaway. This is work."

"Is it?" Jacob said astonished. "But you said" -

\- "I said nothing," Cassandra sing-songed warningly.

Flynn studied Cassandra for a moment, repressing a rueful smile. "What kind of clipping is it?" he asked. "Is it one of the bizarre ones?"

"When is it not?" Jacob snapped. "Last week I was talkin' a digestive biscuit out of dunkin' itself in a mug of tea."

"I recovered the Emerald of Exon," Cassandra said, pluming herself.

Flynn just scoffed. "Have you ever been trapped up a giant's left nostril?" he retorted. "I think not," Flynn finished, ignoring Jacob's raised eyebrow.

"We're searching for a suit-wearing blow-fish," Cassandra said. "Seen one?"

Flynn shook his head, looking suitably sorrowful.

"It's shrinkin' people," Jacob explained. "So Jenkins sent us out here to stop it."

"We never dealt with that kind of stuff in my day," Flynn said, slightly taken aback. "Back then, it was all vampires and ancient prophecies. Now anything goes." He glanced between Jacob and Cassandra, noting their denim shirts, Cassandra's embellished with brightly coloured buttons and badges, tucked into a red tartan miniskirt, Jacob's sporting white paint-stains, or what Flynn hoped were white paint-stains, thinking of his feathered enemies outside. "You two are just smashing the matching," he said, gesturing between them, "I _like_ it."

Jacob just rolled his eyes, Flynn rolling his eyes in turn, ready to resume his hiding. But then it happened. The Distraction. It was the shoes that caught Flynn's eye, the insouciant swagger of their swaying walk. The gleaming ebony crowns; the rock and roll beat of the heels hitting the tiles. That and the smell and the screams. But it was the shoes that made him scramble out from underneath the table, whacking his head again in the process. As people fled, Flynn ruefully rubbing his head, the blow-fish strutted up to the counter with enviable nonchalance; as though this sort of thing happened every day.

"There's your friend," Flynn murmured to Jacob and Cassandra, making the obvious even more obvious, watching the blow-fish examine the various cakes and scones on display. He knew their species liked attention and fast cars and sharp suits - so sharp Flynn could almost feel the fabric cutting him - but they also brought trouble in their wake. Usually because people didn't like to see fish walking about, wearing Savile Row and picking up trust fund blondes.

Jacob rolled up his sleeves, only for Cassandra to halt him, shaking her head. Violence wasn't the answer. Flynn stepped forwards, glancing around, only to see the girl with the dark hair and challenge in her eyes had gone. A little part of him was disappointed by that. Maybe she wasn't so brave after all or maybe he was deluding himself again, searching for his Hartley in the eyes of strangers. The only other people left in the cafe were a young waiter and a bearded man wearing an apron, the two of them trapped behind the counter, terrified out of their wits.

"Can I have a coffee and a tuna baguette, please?" the blow-fish asked, taking out an expensive looking leather wallet. Prada or Gucci or Paxloxian perhaps, Flynn mused. Since the arrival of the humble Homburg in his life, he had been taking a deeper sartorial interest in the world.

The waiter just burst into tears, Flynn thanking God this wasn't a sushi bar. The blow-fish rolled his eyes, something which fascinated Flynn even further. Perhaps he should write a treatise on it... _"The Subtle Art of Sarcasm: A Study of How Fish Can Roll Their Eyes to Express Their Deep (Sea) Emotions."_

"Since he's too busy getting in touch with his feminine side, can you deal with my order instead?" the blow-fish sighed, turning to the bearded man. "I really need some latte loving."

But the bearded man took one look at the blow-fish and turned tail, throwing himself in the direction of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. The waiter backed away from the counter, wringing his hands. Flynn moved closer, unsure exactly what to do next. Beside him, Jacob flexed his fists, ready to throw some punches, making Flynn's hackles rise. Shrinking people or not, it didn't mean they couldn't talk about it, maybe reach a compromise perhaps.

"Please - please don't hurt me," the waiter pleaded, making Jacob suddenly start forwards, Cassandra grabbing the back of his denim shirt.

"Not yet," Flynn breathed, making Cassandra cling even tighter to Jacob, who strained like a dog on a leash.

"I'm only going to hurt you if you don't switch on that damned coffee machine," the blow-fish snarled. "I should have gone to Starbucks instead of this little dump. At least the lighting in there makes my fins look nice." He thoughtfully contemplated his reflection in the back of his iPod before pouting. "In here, I just look... washed out. I really need a spa treatment. Maybe a spray tan."

"Or maybe a nice fin facial?" Cassandra asked lightly, pretending to look concerned, Flynn hastily stepping in front of her and Jacob, not wanting this to get nasty.

The blow-fish and waiter both turned around in tandem, the former taking Flynn in from top to toe in two seconds, sneering at the stranger's fashion sense. He wouldn't be caught dead in these shoes. "And _who_ might _you_ be?" the blow-fish leered, pulling out a wand from the inside of his suit and aiming it at Flynn, the waiter silently and elegantly fainting to the floor. "As if I care, Indiana Jones. Take your tweed and leave, little man, if you know what's good for you."

"' _Little_ man?'", Flynn said, lifting a sceptical eyebrow. "I prefer minuscule or even atom-sized - maybe bantam, diminutive... Lilliputian perhaps" -

"Outside, Indiana," the blow-fish ordered, waving his wand at Flynn. Maybe this advocate of tweed and braces, who took his love of geek-chic too far with his bonhomie hair and bow-ties, wasn't all he seemed. He needed to be careful if he didn't want end up as a fish-finger on this geek's plate. "You as well, country boy and girl," he spat, jerking his head at Jacob and Cassandra, who both reluctantly obeyed, jaws tightening.

Flynn side-stepped out of the cafe onto the pavement, Jacob and Cassandra trailing at his heels, hands raised, Jacob silently cursing Carsen to kingdom come, Cassandra humming _Oklahoma!_ under her breath. The blow-fish kept his wand trained on Flynn's broad back, not taking any chances. As the blow-fish's presence filtered through those swarming the pavement, Flynn suddenly darted into the screaming throng, seemingly abandoning Jacob and Cassandra to their own fates.

"Vogue off!" the blow-fish shouted before pursuing his prey, Jacob and Cassandra following Flynn, refusing to let him act as bait. But Flynn couldn't resist the fish's command. He threw a suitable Madonnasque shape before spinning on the spot and veering off into the crowd again.

"You fashion disaster!" the blow-fish screamed, aiming his wand at Flynn.

Flynn ducked and dived, blasts of green light missing him. One hit a car. A phone box. A Yorkshire terrier.

"It was already small!" Flynn wailed, wringing his hands as he ran.

"Hey, pick on someone your own species!" Jacob shouted illogically, throwing himself in front of Flynn, only for a green blast of light to hit them both, the pavement rushing upwards as they shrank.

"Crumbs," Flynn squeaked. "We're the size of crumbs!" Hastily grabbing Jacob's arm, the two of them tried to make a run for it, Flynn searching his blazer for his own wand. Emitting a tiny cheer upon finding it, he brandished it at the blowfish, only for it to explode in his hand.

"Damn!" he exclaimed. "That was my last wand!"

"In here!" Jacob said, flinging open the lid of a donut box.

"What good is that going to do?"

"Just get in!"

Flynn hesitated before scrambling inside, Jacob following. He was just about to slam the lid shut when he heard a little bark. It was the Yorkshire terrier, running around in circles. It seemed as if it was about a hundred miles away, instead of ten feet. Jacob looked at it and then looked at the approaching blow-fish, his every foot-step making the ground quake.

"Ohhhh!" Jacob groaned. "I can't, I just can't!"

"Yes, you can!" Flynn snapped.

Cursing Carsen to kingdom come again, Jacob knelt on his haunches, holding his arms out. "Come on, Yorkie Bar, come on!" he shouted tinnily, trying and failing to sound more manly.

The Yorkshire terrier stopped running, focusing her beady eyes on him. And all the while the giant approached...

"Come on!" Jacob barely bellowed. _"Come on!"_

The dog finally got the message and raced towards the donut box. The blow-fish tried to stand on it, but Yorkie Bar just weaved her way around his steps. And then she was leaping through the air, through the donut door and into Jacob's arms...

Flynn slammed the lid shut, the smell of sugar starting to make him high. He giggled before getting a grip of himself. "So what do we do now?" he hissed, clamping his hand over his nose.

"I don't know," Jacob admitted, clasping Yorkie Bar to his chest. "We die?"

"Or we could just have a coffee and wait it out. Does this donut box have Netflix?" -

\- "Where's Cassandra?" Jacob suddenly demanded, glancing wildly around them. "She's not here!"

Flynn froze before recovering himself. "Cassie!?" he yelled, searching in vain. "Cass!"

Before the two men could react, the world went sideways, the box becoming flooded with light, Flynn falling, Jacob jolting, clutching Yorkie Bar in his arms, trying to shield her from harm. "Sorry!" Cassandra chirped, hastily straightening the donut box. "My bad!"

"Cassandra!" Flynn cried in relief. "You're safe and not small!"

"Lucky for you, I have quick reflexes," Cassandra said, pluming herself again, "the trash can took the worst of the spell."

"What do you mean the worst?" Jacob demanded, frantically trying and failing to see if she'd been hurt.

"I used the trash can lid as a shield," Cassandra said, before reeling off a list of formulae that made Yorkie Bar's gaze glaze over, "so I just calculated the angle to send the spell" -

\- "Rebounding at its best," Flynn interrupted, applauding her, "so where is our fishy friend now?"

"In my pocket," Cassandra said, patting it, making the donut box tip dangerously again. "Sorry again!" she cried, the sheer volume of her voice making Jacob's head ring.

"In your pocket?" Jacob said in disbelief, shaking his head as though to clear it. "Isn't that going to smell?"

"Don't worry I'll send you my dry cleaning bill," Cassandra said smartly, "but before that, let's make tracks."

"Be a dear and drop me off at the nearest doll's house, Cassandra," Flynn yawned, stretching his little matchstick arms above his head, "I've had enough high jinks for one day."

"Me too," Jacob said, blowing her a tiny tired kiss, looking done in. "Yorkie Bar could do with a siesta as well."

"Let's head home then, shorties," Cassandra said, catching his kiss before closing the donut lid, "I'll give you a literal lift back."

 _Call it magic, call it true_ _  
_ _I call it magic when I'm with you_ _  
_ _And I just got broken, broken into two_ _  
_ _Still I call it magic, when I'm next to you…_


End file.
